


guys in bars

by FeralPen



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anonymous Sex, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunk Sex, F/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 08:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralPen/pseuds/FeralPen
Summary: A thought that I toyed with for a while, typed out frantically in one go. Also my first real attempt to write a sex scene.





	guys in bars

**Author's Note:**

> A thought that I toyed with for a while, typed out frantically in one go. Also my first real attempt to write a sex scene.

Bars weren’t actually her “thing.”

Too expensive, for one. There was much cheaper and much stronger alcohol to be found, if she felt so inclined. Too crowded, for another. Most of the time, all she wanted was to drink enough of a bottle down to get past her metabolism and numb everything enough that she didn’t collapse into a screaming puddle of angst at any given moment. It was hard not to, sometimes. Private investigative work left a few too many hours of solitude to be strictly comfortable.

Dive bars were okay. There were a few around her area of town that didn’t look at her funny when she staggered in already three sheets to the wind and ordered a whole bottle and a large glass. They mostly left her alone, too, didn’t expect her to chat or have anything witty to add to the room. Plus only the dumbest and brokest of college students came to places like this, so it was just her and the other degenerates.

This was her third bar of the night. The first one cut her off. Had the balls to try to be responsible about not letting their clientele die of alcohol poisoning on their watch. Bastards. Like her liver wasn’t already on the edge of collapse. The second one, she’d gotten into a brawl and gotten kicked out for breaking a barstool over a man’s head. She couldn’t be held responsible for doing that. The skeeveball had it coming. He was a total creep.

There were still a few hours left until daylight, and she still wasn’t inclined to head home to sit in the silence of her apartment with the violent, violet-hued memories that plagued her tonight. No, hopefully she could still pass for sober enough to buy at least a few more shots and have an excuse to stay out until last call.

The bar was a total dive. Glasses slightly greasy, more lights busted out than not. Her kind of place. Most of the folks in here seemed inclined to mind her own business, so it was even better.

“Can I get a bourbon, neat?” she asked.

“Cash only,” the bartender said.

“Not a problem.” She sneered mightily and pulled a twenty out of her wallet, slid it over. Bartender didn’t seem to care than she swayed a bit in her seat.

“Think you’ve had enough already, miss?”

That wasn’t the bartender. She took her glass and turned to raise her eyebrow at the man sitting a few seats down at the bar. He had a near-empty bottle in front of him, too.

“Like you’re one to judge,” she snapped. “What are you, the fairy godmother of drunks? Mind your own damn business.”

He shrugged easily and went back to his own drink. “Fine. You live your own damn life. Just seems like a bad idea, a gal as pretty as you getting shitfaced in a dump like this. Bad things happen.”

“What, is that a threat?”

“Just an observation.” He slouched further into his cup.

Jessica sneered again and knocked her drink back. The man’s face tickled the back of her head, but she couldn’t place it.

“Do I know you?” 

The man glanced at her without turning his head. “No, ma’am.”

She shrugged easily. It would come to her eventually. She flagged the bartender down for another.

“Must have one of those faces,” she threw out for him.

“Must have,” he echoed.

He was cute, if nothing else. Angular face, nose that had seen better days, short hair. Former jarhead, maybe. Held his shoulders like a military man, seemed paranoid even with all the whisky in his belly. Jessica sipped her second drink and stared at him openly. He didn’t fidget, but he drained his glass and poured another with jerky movements.

“You got something you’re looking at, lady?”

“Just you,” she said. She sipped her drink again. “Tell me honestly, man, would you get weird if I asked you if you wanted to fuck?”

The man’s head swiveled around to her, and she smirked. Of all things, that seemed to get to him. His eyebrows were raised. He looked even cuter.

“You always this forward?”

“Usually.” She shrugged again. “If you don’t want to, it’s no skin off my nose. Just thought I’d offer.”

“You a hooker or something?”

She barked out a laugh. “Fuck no. I mean, if you wanna buy me another drink, and we still go find a bathroom or an alley, that’s fine, but no. This is all just for fun.”

He picked up his drink and stared into it. He seemed to be thinking hard.

“Like I said, dude, it’s not a big deal. You’re cute, we’re both drunk, I’m just saying, we could blow off some steam together. If not, it’s fine.”

His voice was guarded, and he kept looking into his drink. “And if I said yes?”

“Then let’s stop wasting time.” She knocked the rest back and wobbled up out of her chair. “You in or not?”

“Yeah,” he said. He knocked his own drink back, slammed the glass down. “Yeah, I’m in.”

Jessica weaved her way through the bar, toed open the door to the men’s room. It was as grungy as the rest of the building. The fluorescent light flickered ominously, but it was empty. Her companion sneered at the room.

“What, not fancy enough for you?” 

Jessica smirked and dragged him into the lone stall with her. He stumbled a bit, seemed cautious of her strength. She distracted him by pushing him against the stall wall and tugging on his belt buckle.

“Come on, what are you waiting for?”

He still hesitated. “I don’t, uh, usually do this.”

“You wanna stop?”

He shook his head. Jessica nodded and decided to speed things up. She pulled her shirt up and tugged her bra straps down over her shoulders, let the band of it fall down around her waist. She grabbed the man’s hands and put them on top of her breasts unceremoniously. He gasped softly.

“You know how this works, right? It’s the same. Just in a shitty bar bathroom.”

The man nodded, and it seemed like a switch flicked in his head. His hands were suddenly squeezing and pinching at her nipples. His mouth came down and she met him halfway for a searing kiss with a little too much teeth and tongue. She kept tugging at his belt until she had it yanked open, had pulled the flaps of leather out of the way to pop the button and yank the zipper down.

Her companion pulled his mouth away to gasp when she pulled him out of his jeans, shoved them down to leave him exposed.

“You move fast,” he said breathlessly.

“Less talk, more action,” she growled and shoved a wrapped condom from her pocket into his hand.

She listened to the wrapper crinkle as she ripped her own jeans and underwear down. She turned away from him, put her hands on the top of the stall.

“Hurry up.”

She could hear his eye roll. “Yes, sir.”

His hands were on her hips, then. She glanced back to verify that yes, he’d put the condom on. She met his eyes and nodded. He nodded back. 

He seemed to get over his shyness. In couple of short thrusts, he was inside. She gave herself a second to adjust before she was urging him into motion. He didn’t take much encouragement before he was going at it in earnest.

One of his hands snaked around to rub her off. She was surprised. That was more than she usually got from assholes in bars, but she was drunk and horny enough not to complain. Instead, she moaned in encouragement, and he slammed into her with more force.

Then he slowed down, the asshole. She was about to snap at him when the hand on her sped up, the other one came up to toy at her breasts. His mouth burned a hot line over her throat in bites and kisses and, suddenly and surprisingly, she was coming with a cry she muffled by biting her arm.

The man seemed satisfied with his work. He sped back up again and was over himself in a few short thrusts.

They stood like that for a good minute, panting. Jessica felt sweat drying on her skin. She winced as the man pulled out. She pulled herself together, got her clothes back in order. Her legs were shaking. They didn’t speak.

When she was decent, the man opened the stall door and tossed the condom in the trash. He looked back at her and it clicked.

“Frank Castle.” It slipped out of her mouth.

His face crumpled into a scowl.

“Forget you saw me,” he said.

She snorted, and his gaze sharpened. 

“Who the fuck do you think would believe me? I could see the headline now. ‘Local crazy woman fucks local terrorist.’ No fucking thanks, man.”

His mouth quirked at that, and she counted it a win.

“Thanks anyway, ma’am.”

“I’m still ma’am after all that?” She was having trouble with her laughter. Maybe it was shock. She’d just fucked Frank Castle after all.

“My nonna taught me to treat women with respect,” he said with dignity.

“Evidently.” She sobered up and went to the sink, splashed water on her face. His hand was on the handle of the door when she looked up.

“We’re not going to see each other again,” he said.

“No, we’re not,” she agreed.

They shared a nod that had her fighting down another chortle. He left the room. She gave him a minute to make a proper escape before she left, too. The bartender scowled at her on the way out. She flipped him the bird.

She made her way down the street. Back to her home. Back to Alias.

She thought, maybe, she’d stay away from bars for a little while. Never knew who you’d run into.


End file.
